“That’s part of the process. No AC to pamper you.”
“Dick,” I mutter. At least it’s in middle of the night and not in the heat of the day, but damn. “What time do they close?”
“They don’t,” he answers.
“You’re going to keep me here all night?”
“Something else you want to do?”
“Nope.” I grab the tape from him and wrap my knuckles as he chuckles. Once I’ve finished, I start hitting the punching bag, fists hammering against the jagged bag.
“You’re going to injure your hand,” he informs me.
I stop as he positions behind me.
“Here.” He guides my hand to hit the target. “Connect here. Your first two knuckles take the brunt of the impact, not your pinkie or ring finger.”
“Anything else?” I ask.
His fingers grasp my hips, rotating me slightly. “Put your entire body behind it. Your hips and shoulders should follow the motion. Don’t just use your arm. Keep your core tight.”
His hands linger on my hips, and I don’t move until he does. I throw a punch, following his directions.
Luca smirks as he tells me, “Good girl. Now do it again. But harder this time.”
I’d like to deck him right now. He knows exactly what he’s doing because my mind is certainly in the gutter.
53
IVY
Hours later, we’re finally back at my house.
“Every muscle in my body is aching.” I turn my head, stretching as my hand grips my neck.
He reaches over, his fingers replacing mine as he massages, moving down to my shoulders. The pressure is perfect until it’s not and a piercing pain shoots through my muscle as I flinch.
Luca says, “Get some clothes and meet me at my house.”
“Um. Okay,” I mumble to the empty vehicle because he’s already gone.
As usual at this time of night, my house is dark and quiet. I shower then get dressed and report for the next phase of my sentence.
As soon as he opens the front door, he says, “I didn’t tell you to shower. I said get clothes and come here.”
“You should’ve been more specific, boss,” I quip. His stance is rigid before I follow him to his room. He likes me challenging him as much as I like to piss him off.
After I step through the doorway, he demands, “Take off your shirt.”
Maybe he’s decided to take what he wants after all. I do as he says and remove my T-shirt, standing there in my bra and shorts.
He leans forward, his mouth next to my ear. “You’re wearing mine so I can get that repulsive image out of my mind.” He methodically pulls his T-shirt over my head then clings to the fabric as he pulls me to him. “I don’t ever want to see you wear another man’s clothes. Only mine.”
“You keep forgetting that there’s an expiration on how long I have to follow your demands.”
Luca’s grip tightens as he says, “There will be consequences if you do.”
“Again, limited time of control. If I want to wear his jersey again, I will. And I don’t care what you think about it.”
